


One Year After

by Trobadora



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-04
Updated: 2007-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>What did it matter? He was alone anyway.</i> - Set one year after <i>Last of the Time Lords</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year After

He probably didn't deserve it, but Jack was easy.

All he'd had to do was come back, come to see the man.

Jack had never asked for much. For anything, really - Jack had always been good at taking what he was given and making the best of it. Enjoying the moment. That he was coming back, not leaving him behind again, was enough for him.

It probably wasn't fair to take advantage of it, but it was so easy.

So easy to slip into the man's bed again and again, taking what little comfort he could find. So easy to walk away afterwards, knowing there would be no questions, no need for explanations when he returned.

Jack had never expected anything of him, and he expected nothing now.

Which was good, because he had nothing left to give.

Gallifrey, gone. All of it gone again, for good – its last remnant destroyed by its own choice. The Master, gone.

The fierce despair he'd felt when the Master had died had left him numb. What did anything else matter, after that?

Rose, sealed away in another universe. Martha and Jack, both leaving him because they had better things to do. What did it matter? He was alone anyway.

They were better off without him anyway.

And yet he went back to Jack again and again. Jack, who knew him, and knew better than to expect anything of him. Who accepted him regardless.

It was small comfort, and almost purely physical comfort at that - it barely penetrated the numbness that surrounded him.

Why Jack would let him, he wasn't sure. Maybe one day he'd ask. If he could bring himself to care.

Now it had been a year - to the day, a year – this was the day they had turned back time. This was the end of the year that never was. And he found himself on the _Valiant_ again - why, he wasn't sure. But he was here, again, staring, staring at the room he'd spent a year in, humiliated and degraded and broken and so _hopeful_ \- a hope forever lost, now. The Master, lost.

He heard steps approaching. Damn. Not in the mood for dealing with stupid apes today. He should have thought to use the perception filter. Stupid, stupid - -

It was Jack.

Jack was here, walking up to him, his expression serious for once. "I thought I'd find you here today."

He could only nod. Not so surprising a meeting, perhaps - it hadn't even occurred to him before, but Jack had been through enough here.

He hadn't lost anything here, though. Not like the Doctor had.

Jack gave him a humourless smile, but didn't say anything else. Silently, they walked the decks.

Images before his mind's eye - the Master, in his bathrobe, dancing through the room. The Master, giving the order to decimate the human race. The Master, in his arms, wounded, dying: _I win._

Every corner they turned: the Master.

He couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear it any more. He smashed his fist against the nearest bulkhead.

Ouch.

"Doctor!"

His eyes stung. But even the throbbing in his hand barely penetrated his numbed mind.

Jack reached for his shoulder, concerned.

He didn't want concern.

His fist snapped out before he'd even thought it, throwing a vicious punch. Jack staggered back, touching his chin gingerly. "Doctor," he said again.

What, no reaction to that? He threw another punch, but this time Jack caught his fist before it could connect. "Doctor." And he was pulled against the man, kept still. Held. "Let it out."

He pushed at the man, weakly. Not enough will for true resistance. But: "You don't want to know."

"Don't I?" Jack gave him a wry grin. "Too late for that. You really think I don't know?"

The Doctor swallowed. What did Jack think he knew? After everything, he certainly couldn't want to hear what the Doctor was thinking. Feeling. "He's gone."

Had he really said those words? He hadn't meant to, hadn't meant to let Jack know -

"I know." Jack squeezed his shoulder. "You need to let yourself grieve."

He stared. "I miss him. I wish he was back. Sometimes I wish _I_ was back, in that year that never happened." Viciously. Provoking.

But all Jack did was squeeze his shoulder again. "I know. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Martha had said that to him, a year ago: "I'm sorry." So had Jack. They'd been the only ones who'd offered him their condolences, but neither of them had meant it. They'd been glad he was dead. They'd thought he should get over it, and be glad with them.

Hadn't they?

Hadn't they? And if not, how could they not, after everything they, and the whole world, had been through? How could anyone not?

Except for him, the last of the Time Lords, once again. The hope that had been dangled before him ripped away, leaving him alone, broken, and empty.

And unable to grieve.

"Let it out," Jack said. "Even you can't keep everything inside forever."

"You don't want to know," he said again.

"Come on." And Jack led him back to the TARDIS.

Inside, they stood, looking at each other. Jack, patient and waiting. The Doctor, numb and furious at the same time.

Abruptly, he turned away. "I can't."

"You need to."

He turned back, took an angry step towards Jack. "How can you? How can you accept that? After everything he did, to everyone - how can you look at me missing him and not be disgusted?"

"You loved him." Simply.

"So?" Confused. And pained, by Jack's understanding, which he didn't deserve. Which he'd never deserved, in all of this year where he'd abused the man's easy acceptance, his lack of expectations, his selflessness. "I'd have left everything behind for him. I'd have given everything up for him." Desperate. Longing. Longing, still.

"And you think I would have objected? Even if it could never have ended well. I know you had to try. And you deserved that much."

He could only stare.

"Doctor. He was the last of your kind, and you loved him. Do you really think I'd begrudge you your grief? That I'm so petty as that?"

"Is it? Is it petty to think I shouldn't grieve for a monster? He was one, you know. I'm not so blind that I don't see that. But he was - he was - - "

Unforgivably, his voice broke. And suddenly he was crying, his fists clenching in Jack's shirt, holding on for dear life. Spilling, it was all spilling out of him, right there, and Jack held him, steadying him, supporting him as he fell apart.

***

When he woke, his eyes were swollen. His throat was hoarse. And his fist was throbbing. It hurt.

It felt... good. Real.

He'd completely exhausted himself - he'd barely noticed when Jack had finally pulled him up and carried him to his bedroom. He'd fallen asleep somewhere on the way.

Now he blinked at the room, wincing as the lights came on. Looking around. Even the TARDIS seemed more real now.

Oh.

Jack was lying on the couch, fast asleep.

He smiled.

He was hurting, and exhausted, and still so lonely, in that dark corner of his mind. Still so lonely.

But not alone.

Had never been alone, really - too blind to see it, blinded by his own suppressed grief. _You are not alone._ It meant more than he'd thought.

He got up. Went over to the couch, gave Jack's shoulder a shove. "Wakey, wakey."

Jack was awake instantly. "Doctor?"

Then the Doctor's smile registered with him, and his face broke into a grin. "Slept well?"

"Better than I have in a long time. No dreams." He swallowed. "Thank you," he whispered. "And I'm sorry. For all of last year. For everything. I couldn't - I wasn't able to - but I shouldn't have..."

Jack interrupted him. "Idiot. That's what friends are for. Should I have turned you away because you weren't ready to grieve yet?"

"I hurt you." He could see it now, now that he wasn't numb from unacknowledged grief - could see how Jack had hurt, how he had hurt Jack, all this time. But the man had thought it worth it, somehow, to bear part of his pain for him. To not let him bear it alone.

"You're better now. That's what matters."

He'd better not disappoint this man again. He'd better live up to the best of it, this time. He pulled Jack against him, tightly. "You're never getting rid of me now."

He could feel the smile, hear it in the man's voice. "Never's a long time."

He knew – he knew Jack understood him. But this needed more. He wanted more. Something real, this time.

"Yes. Yes, it is." And he pressed his lips against Jack's, and kissed him soundly.

It was. And it would be. He wouldn't let it be any other way.


End file.
